


Ten Dollar Rock Stars

by Pistol



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:04:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22041433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pistol/pseuds/Pistol
Summary: The Losers start out the same way so many other garage bands do - after school when there's nothing good on TV.
Relationships: Carlos "Cougar" Alvarez/Jake Jensen
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54





	Ten Dollar Rock Stars

The Losers start out the same way so many other garage bands do - after school when there's nothing good on TV.

"We should start a band."

Will looks up from his homework, giving Jake the same look he gave him when Jake tried to help him with his test by by singing _The Immune and Lymph Systems_ nonstop for a week.

"I promise the songs we play won't be about your immune system," Jake assures him.

Will snorts, returning to his work.

"Look, I've actually given this some thought, this isn't like the thing where we tried to fix your dad's car. I know you're probably thinking, 'great idea, Jake, but what about instruments?' Well, I was in the attic and found a drum set, I think it belonged to the guy with the beard that Mom dated back in-"

"Not gonna happen."

"But-"

"Nope."

Jake makes a face at Will, turning to yell at the door, "Mama Roque? Can I stay for dinner?"

There's the sound of footsteps approaching a moment before the door swings open. Mama Roque comes in with a big smile made brighter when she sees the mostly completed homework scattered around her son's desk.

"Of course you can. Just call your mom and let her know-"

"Can't. She got invited to a game in Reno."

Mama Roque rolls her eyes up to the ceiling, muttering under her breath for strength. "Did she leave a number this time?"

"If she did I didn't find it."

"I swear to-" She silences herself off with a pinched look, "and your sister?"

"She's living at her boyfriend's," Jake shrugs, "Jennifer moved out in April."

"Right. Well, of course you can stay, in fact, Willy will drive you over to your place to pack a bag. You can stay here until that woma- your mother," she corrects herself, "shows back up."

"Thanks Mama Roque," Jake gets a fond look and a pat on his head before she's turning and marching out the door.

"Herbert! _Herbert!_ Wait till you hear what that hus- woman has done this time!"

Jake chuckles to himself as the sounds of her voice echo through the house, but when he turns around Will’s face is tight and angry.

"Wha-"

"You _know_ what," he growls.

"Dude, it's not like _that_ time. She left some cash and paid Jennifer to drop off groceries."

Will throws a college lined notebook at Jake in response. "When were you going to tell me?"

"I-"

"Dinner's up in ten, boys!" Comes Mama Roque's yell. "And if your hands aren't washed, you aren't eating!"

"We'll talk about this later," Will promises with a dark look.

"The band?" Jake asks hopefully.

Will's glare shatters that hope.

\---

"So, about the band," Jake stage whispers, leaning down to peek at the bunk underneath his.

"Not a chance."

"Think about the chicks, man, chicks _love_ guys in bands. Also dudes. Bendy dudes," Jake wiggles his eyebrows, trying to convey the epicness of groupies.

"I'm going to suffocate you with a pillow."

Jake snorts, "Dude, I know that half the school wets themselves at the mere sight of you, Scarface, but I'm not falling for it." He lowers his voice into a taunting hiss, "I know you, and I know you're one-hundred percent in the paragon side and that you just _pretend_ to be a renegade. Only nuns and sweet old ladies have a sweeter-"

Will is up and out of his bunk, pillow in hand and trying to catch Jake as he scrambles down the bunk-bed and into the hallway with a squeal. Will follows him with a roar.

"_Herbert!_ Get the gloves!" Comes Mama Roque's cry, "I'm gonna have to show these boys what happens when someone disrupts my beauty sleep!"

\---

The walk to school is passed in the stony silence Will adopts before and during school and the clamor of Jake half-walking, half-dancing in circles around him. He sending poorly executed rabbit punches into the air, and only a few actually connect.

"Mama Roque is pretty spry for an old lady," Jake says, aiming another flurry of sloppy punches at the air near Will's shoulder before dancing away.

"Champs don't get soft," Will says like it's gospel. "They just start to focus on a different kind of fights. Like their dumbass kids and their dumbass husbands who never remember to take out the trash." Will smirks at Jake, who returns the expression.

"You do realize your mom is like," Jake gesticulates wildly as he walks backwards down the street, "a national treasure or something, right?"

Will smiles proudly, but a cloud falls over his face and only ends up nodding as he studies the ground at his feet. "I know I'm lucky," he says quietly.

Jake stumbles a little, "I didn't mean-"

"What about that band?" Will interrupts him. "You know, my dad used to play bass and I think his might still be in the garage somewhere."

This time Jake doesn't stumble, he falls flat on his ass, blinking up at Will.

"He'd probably give me lessons if I asked."

"Oh my god," Jake says clutching his chest with wide eyes, "I was thinking you'd sing, but fuck! A bass _and_ you being all 'grrr' on stage - we won't even have to be good! We just need you wailing on a bass guitar!" He frowns, squinting up at Will, "Is that the right term? Does one 'wail' on a bass? And should I just call it a bass or is it a bass guitar? And how do we-"

"One thing at a time," Will interrupts with a roll of his eyes. "We don't even know if my dad still has it."

Jake ignores Will and his dose of reality, laying back on the sidewalk and pumping his fists in the air. The other people on their way to school give them dirty looks as they walk around them.

"Freaks," one girl mutters as she passes.

"We're gonna be so _cool,_" Jake croons.

\---

Papa Roque not only has a bass but a mostly working amp boxed away in the garage. Jake and the family spend most of Friday afternoon digging them out while Mama Roque regales them all with the tale of how she met her husband when she saw his KISS cover band playing. Apparently he was wearing leather pants.

This disturbing information is followed by even more disturbing looks and butt pinching before Mama Roque exclaims loudly that taxes are due in less than five months and then drags her husband into the house so they can 'look for receipts'.

"Did what I think just happen … happen?"

"Shut up," Will says in a strained voice, "just shut up and whatever you do, don't go in the house."

\---

Later they end up playing rock, paper, scissors to see who has to brave sneaking through the front door and into the kitchen to get the car keys. Jake loses.

"The walls in your house are really … thin," he says with a grimace as he hands over the keys.

Will pats him on the back. "I know."

\---

Sam Ash is blessedly located next to Coldstone and Jake isn't above using what he heard about Will's parents’ sex life to get him to pay for ice cream therapy before they head over.

They spend half an hour in the guitar room with Will watching as Jake tries to play it cool as he asks the sales clerk about the instruments on the wall. Thankfully the sales clerk seems relieved for a distraction from the half-a-dozen people playing _Mad World_ and various Nirvana songs while sending her hopeful looks.

"So I'm guessing you guys don't know shit," she proclaims after listening to Jake ramble himself in circles while trying to get an answer as to why some guitars have more strings than others and what the difference between a bass and a guitar is.

"Yup," Will admits easily.

"We …" Jake looks momentarily offended before deflating and scratching the back of his head self consciously. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Do you have money?"

"What?" Jake blinks in confusion.

Will looks her over before shrugging. "Yeah, but not much. We're gonna use my dad's bass for now."

"Thirty bucks a lesson."

"What?" Jake repeats.

"Why?" Will asks with narrowed eyes.

"I'm only working here part-time because my car's in the shop and one job isn't enough to cover the costs, but if I hear one more pimply kid in eyeliner singing _Mad World_ I'm going to burn this store to the ground."

Will makes a thoughtful sound. "You any good?"

She reaches over, plucking a cherry red guitar from the wall and promptly puts the room at large to shame as she pulls terrifyingly beautiful sounds from it.

"Holly shit," Jake whimpers, "it's like hitting second puberty or something. I can't tell if I like girls or if I like guitars. Is guitar-sexual a thing? Or is that a bass-"

Will ignores Jake, "You got a deal."

"Name's Aisha," she says shaking his hand firmly.

\---

Jake finds himself staring at Aisha with a mix of adoration, hormonal confusion, and pure terror as they're escorted from Sam Ash by security.

"That was… amazing," he gushes, "how did you- where did you even-"

"I've worked there three weeks," Aisha says with a shrug. "I spent all three weeks thinking about quitting. Week two was when I _really_ started to get creative."

Jake nods along, tugging excitedly on Will's sleeve as they make their way to his mom's car. "Your mom is going to _love_ her."

\---

Mama Roque does love Aisha. But then again, she's still kinda glowing and in love with the world in ways that makes Jake unconsciously remember talk of leather pants and grease makeup. Will looks pained.

"You remind me of a young me," Mama Roque coos fondly when she catches Aisha belittling Will's playing. "Are you staying for dinner, dear?"

Aisha looks a little shell shocked at this, fidgeting under Mama Roque's fond look. "Um…"

"Yeah, she's staying," Jake says offhandedly as he continues to frown down at the pieces of his drum set arranged around him in a haphazard circle. "Hey, anyone know where I'm supposed to put the long tall drum?"

\---

"So, how old are you?" Jake asks over dinner, earning him a _Look_ from Mama Roque.

Aisha raises an eyebrow. "Eighteen. You?"

Jake puffs up his chest. "Almost nineteen."

"He's sixteen," Will corrects, "I'm seventeen."

"I'm forty-one, not that anyone cares about me," Papa Roque mutters into his mashed potatoes.

"Oh honey," Mama Roque purrs, "do I need to show you again just how much I care?"

Aisha momentarily chokes on her pork chop.

"They do that sometimes," Jake gets how weird it can be to see parents who like each other, much less parents who make-out to _I Was Made For Lovin' You_ on the couch while their son gets bass lessons, "but if you start to hear about leather pants, _run for the hills_."

\---

Jake's mom comes home sometime between Sunday and Tuesday, staying just long enough to eat the food Jennifer left in the fridge and to take his sock full of emergency cash he thought had been hidden.

_I had a bad week in Reno, but I have a good feeling about the tables this week. Just eat at your friends house this week._ the note on his dresser informs him.

Jake sees red, just for a second, and comes out of it with his fist planted painfully in the cheap drywall of his room. He stands there, staring down at the note and cradling a throbbing hand and thinks about how easy it would be to fake an electrical fire in a house as broken down as this one.

A car horn shatters his thoughts and reminds him that Will will be coming after him if he takes too long. Will, who worries enough as it is.

Jake grabs two mostly clean shirts, stuffing them in his bag along with a pile of CDs from his dresser before hightailing it outside. Will is waiting in the driveway, leaning against his mom's car with Aisha. From the look on Will's face Jake knows he's not doing a good enough job of hiding his anger. That or Will is psychic, which in all honestly _would_ ex-

"She home?" Will is watching the front door of the house warily.

"She was, but she's already left." He leaves out the part about how she left with the money for his new drum heads and sticks.

Will and Aisha don't talk on the way home, don't ask any questions. They just nod along with Jake's rambling about everything and nothing until it starts to sound more like normal and less like he's about to start hitting things.

\---

In the garage Jake picks up his sticks and forgoes his _Essential Elements_ lesson of the day on making music in favor of thrashing about mindlessly and making noise.

He's not sure how long he's out there, but there's a faint burning in his arms and wrists when he notices that Aisha's guitar is screaming along with him. Behind their clatter Jake can hear slow and steady scales from Will.

Jake lets his arms drop down to his sides and he just breathes as Aisha's wailing turns from something aggressive and wild to a taunting song that dances around Will's scales.

\---

Aisha becomes a fixture in the Roque family garage and dinner table the same way Jake once had.

"Oh, my babies!" Mama Roque still coos when she catches them practicing in the garage. "It's starting to sound like music!"

She's lying. Only Aisha sounds any good at this point but they all end up staring at their toes with burning ears under her fond looks.

"Mom," Will begs.

"I'm just so proud of you all," she says waving him off before walking back towards the kitchen. "Herbert! Come listen to them! They don't sound quite as shitty anymore!"

"She's not so bad," Aisha says quietly, focusing on tuning her guitar despite it already being tuned. Her posture is defensive and closed off, almost like it is when they go out into town and people with greasy hair and slick suits recognize her. But it's different. Different like Will's closed off look that he gets sometimes at school when Jake gets into an argument with a teacher. Jake recognizes and translates Aisha's look with relative ease: Aisha's happy.

\---

Will and Jake show up late for practice one day only to find Aisha and Mama Roque kitted up with boxing gear and circling each other in the makeshift ring Papa Roque built in the back yard. Papa Roque is pretending to ignore them all as he drinks a beer and pokes at the meat on the grill, but both women are grinning around their mouth guards, sweaty and glowing with satisfaction in the hot sun.

As they lash out at each other Jake takes a moment to admire Mama Roque's control and power before taking in Aisha's creative yet scrappy attempts at retaliation.

"Awkward boner alert," Jake murmurs, earning himself a punch to the kidneys from Will that he honestly can't say he didn't deserve.

\---

"You guys don't really strike me the kind to start a garage band together," Aisha says with feigned indifference as she steals the popcorn bowl from Jake.

Jake gives her credit for being tactful enough not to just say _why the fuck are you two friends?_

Next to him, Jake can feel Will's hackles rising as he reaches over, stealing the bowl back and placing it in pointedly in Jake's lap.

"You do realize you're in our band, too, right?" Will's showing too many teeth to Aisha, who just flashes her own back. Jake hums the theme to _Jaws_ under his breath until they both slap at him halfheartedly.

"You're _paying_ me to hang out with you," Aisha says smugly.

Will looks unfazed. "I stopped paying for lessons three months ago."

Aisha looks startled for a second, like she forgot she deemed Will no longer in need of her tutelage and that she still kept coming around like the stray cats Mama Roque always feeds.

"Whatever," she finally mutters, "maybe I just come around 'cause your mom's food is better than anything I can cook."

Will snorts, but Jake can feel him relaxing. "If you say so."

They sit in silence for a while, Jake eating popcorn and pretending to watch the movie and not the weird mood that's settled over Will and Aisha. Her silence feels like a competition which means Aisha will be the first to crack, but only because Will has never seen anything but raised fists as a challenge worth taking.

"So, if I'm here for the food, why's _he_ here?" She jabs a finger at Jake, which, _ow_.

"He's my friend," Will says easily.

"Awww," Jake throws an arm over Will's shoulder only to have Will peel it off.

"You have _nothing_ in common," Aisha hisses.

"We have the band!" Jake points out.

"Right," Aisha rolls her eyes, "congratulations on that, but it doesn't explain why you're friends. I mean, he," she says, gesturing towards Will, "looks like someone who would beat you up."

Will goes stiff, tense and angry like they're at school and not safely settled on Will's couch.

"He never has, and Will _never_ hits someone outside of a ring who hasn't hit him first. His mom would kill him if he did."

"Right-"

"I'm telling the truth," Jake insists. "Yeah, he fights a lot, but only because people _want_ to fight him. Dude, just look at him, he's huge and all muscly, and the scar doesn't help. Most people who see him are either too scared to acknowledge him or they're looking to prove they _aren't_ scared of him."

"He-"

"Don't act like I haven't seen you in public, Ms. Talk-to-me-and-I-will-cut-off-your-ear-for-fun-and-profit. Judge not, lest you lose a warm and fuzzy personality contest."

Aisha chews on this information, the movie all but forgotten by this point.

Jake bravely throws a piece of popcorn over at Aisha, hoping for a lighter mood. "Long story short - we were both stuck in detention together a lot. He was failing some classes and I was failing to prevent my ass from being kicked. A hop, skip, and a jump through after school special zone and he started to make me friendship bracelets and I braided his hair while I talked about how I hoped the quarterback would ask me to the big dance."

Will gives Aisha a long suffering look that earns a ducked head and a sympathetic chuckle from her.

"Okay, okay. So …. where did he get the scar?" Aisha asks, tilting her head to the side as she studies Will's face.

"Fell off my bike in middle school."

Aisha looks to Jake for confirmation.

"All true. His mom said he cried."

Will rolls his eyes, slapping half-heartedly at Jake's head.

"So, you two..?"

"I saw his inner care-bear, and he realized I'm pretty much the coolest person to ever exist," Jake says primly. "But more importantly why are you so interested in _why_ we're friends?"

Aisha opens and closes her mouth twice before turning away to glare at their forgotten movie.

"Oh," Jake says as it clicks, "_oh_."

"Shut up, Jake," she hisses.

"You just realized you have _friends_. You were trying to piss us off weren't you? It was a test!"

"No, I don't and no, I wasn't!"

"You like us! Oh my god, we're best friends now aren't we? This is so _cool_, I have a bad ass chick for a best friend! Does this mean you're comfortable enough around us to walk around in just your bra? Or- you could skip the bra, we could even burn it if you're into tha-"

Will cuffs the back of his head while Aisha tries to fight a smile.

\---  
Will and Jake both outgrow their music books by the end of fall. After that, practice changes a little. Will sometimes experiments, letting his fingers work out various sounds - some good, most bad - while Aisha still happily plays in circles around him while they both pretend her offhanded comments aren't her still teaching Will things.

Feeling left out, Jake buys a metronome and drives them all mad as he keeps an endless beat on his cymbal with it.

"You're supposed to be practicing," Aisha snaps after the first thirty minutes.

"I," Jake says in time with the metronome and his cymbals crash, "am."

Aisha narrows her eyes. "Jake," she says in warning.

Jake adopts his best robot voice, still keeping time. "Yes?"

"Oh, it's _on_!" Aisha snarls, dropping her guitar into its case and lunging at Jake over his set.

\---

Mama Roque slaps gloves and their mouth guards in their hands as she frog marches them to the back yard.

"We're sorry!" Jake whines piteously.

"That's swell," Mama Roque chirps as she shoves them into the ring, "but I want to see some decent footwork and a clean fight before you two apologize and hug it out."

On the other side of the ring Aisha is glowering at Jake like he was the one who started this. Which, maybe he was, but that's not the point.

"She telegraphs," Will calls out helpfully, "and his right arm is shit."

"Traitor!" Jake hisses.

\---

Tired and more sore than he can remember being since the first time Mama Roque threw him and Will in the ring, Jake can barely lift his bass drum up from where it rolled during their original fight. Luckily, a second pair of hands appear as Aisha grunts and helps him roll it back.

"That's what I like to see!" Mama Roque praises, "Teamwork!"

"I think we can take her," Jake whispers, "if we use teamwork."

"Hah!" Mama Roque snorts.

\---

"I have a two bedroom apartment," Aisha brings up out of nowhere. She's looking down at her guitar, but Jake knows somehow that her non-sequitur is directed at him.

Will ignores Jake's pleading look for Aisha-to-English help, still working his way through his warm up.

"Um. I have a pair of shoes I drew the cast of Adventure Time on," Jake says not sure what the normal response to something like that is. "Timothy - a guy in my AP Physics class - says they're cool. I could make you a pair if you want."

"Coffee Bean doesn't exactly keep me rollin' in the dough," she continues to fiddle with her guitar not looking at him. "but my dad bought the apartment for me a while ago, so there's no rent. I could still use some help with groceries and utilities though."

"Like, carrying the groceries up the stairs in a manly fashion?" Jake looks down at his arms, significantly more muscled since he started drumming. He flexes for her, impressing only himself. "Yeah, I could do that."

Aisha rolls her eyes. "I meant that once you graduate you could buy groceries and pay the electric bill in exchange for a room."

"Oh," Jake isn't sure what to say to that, looking once more to Will, who offers no help.

"I know she doesn't care that you pretty much live here in all but name, but this way Mama Roque wouldn't worry so much about you."

"And I could jerk off without kicking you out of the room," Will throws in helpfully.

\---

Graduation is long and boring. The bright orange dresses don't help.

"I'll trade you my dress for yours," Jake offers, Aisha eyeing her red dress enviously, "orange is _so_ your color."

Aisha wrinkles her nose, "You don't have the legs for this dress and that shade of orange is _no one’s_ color. Your whole school looks like inmates."

"They're gowns," Mama Roque corrects while shoving him, Aisha, and Will to stand closer to Papa Roque as she snaps another series of pictures that leave them all momentarily blinded from the flash.

"What are you boys going to miss most?" Papa Roque asks throwing a heavy arm around Jake's shoulders.

"Nothing," Will and Jake chorus. 

"Come on, there has to be _something_," Mama Roque pleads hopefully.

Will considers this, "I liked watching the cheerleaders practice."

"You're your father's son. He loves my cheer-"

"Well, personally," Jake says loudly, "I'm thinking I'll miss trying to understand the American public school system and all its quirks."

Aisha perks up, "Oh?"

"You know, like how you can get all the right answers and still fail math if you don't show your work. Or how Darwin and the Higgs particle can only be discussed if your parents signed a permission slip, but you can watch _Stand and Deliver_ twenty-seven tim-"

"Forget I asked," Aisha groans.

Mama Roque smiles fondly, patting Jake's cheek.

\---

Jake starts work at a local bookstore on a Monday and moves into Aisha's on a Thursday.

"Don't make me regret this," Aisha tells him with a scowl.

Jake pretends not to hear Will and his mom placing bets as they carry in his boxes.

\---

Mama Roque spends half an hour pretending to browse the bookstore’s equestrian section while watching Jake out of the corner of her eyes. After a series of whirs and flashes while he's ringing people up Jake is willing to bet money that the the object she keeps hiding from him is a camera, just like he knows there's an incredibly embarrassing scrapbook page in his future. It'll probably be full of blurred photos of him at the register and bits of the guy who tried to hide his purchase from the sci-fi erotica section in between three books about learning C++.

Jake checks to make sure no customers are in view before laying his head on the counter and doing his best to try to fuse his forehead to the cool wood. It doesn't work, so Jake uses his head to tap out his rhythm homework against the wood.

"You okay?"

Looking down, Jake's coworker is no longer buried nose deep in a battered copy of _Stressfire, Vol. 1_ but is peering over the counter that's been his shelter since Jake clocked in. He glances from Mama Roque up at Jake, pushing aside his battered baseball cap, emblazoned with the store's logo so their eyes can meet. It's the most Jake has ever interacted with or heard from him, so really, it's not his fault that he spends several minutes just staring at him.

"She's been taking pictures," _C. Alvarez_, as his name badge informs Jake, says.

Jake clears his throat. "Um. Yeah. She does that."

Alvarez says nothing to that but raises an eyebrow, making Jake feel like maybe his slacker co-worker and Aisha could join forces and become super villains who roamed the world mockingly judging people until they offered up their life's savings in hopes they'd both pack up their eyebrows and go away.

"I'm not going to be intimidated by your eyebrows," Jake blurts out, "it's not that they aren't effective but I live with Satan, and she plucks hers for maximum judgmental effect and has thusly made me immune to the efforts of mere mortals."

The eyebrow inches up, but luckily Jake is saved from himself by the sound of a customer clearing their throat.

\---

Jake's the last one to stumble into practice, sparing only a second to run through the house, nod meaningfully at Papa Roque and to give his best effort at glaring at Mama Roque. It doesn't work, but she does offer him a cookie.

"Oh honey, that was a valiant effort," she coos.

"I work there," he whines, "you can't just come in and take pictures of me like some-"

Mama Roque snorts. "Clearly, I can. Now go tell the others dinner is at eight."

She's gone before he can work up a decent comeback.

"Your mom was taking pictures of me at work today," he whines to Will.

Will nods, unfazed. "She'll do that."

"Pictures?" Aisha asks.

"She _scrapbooks_," Jake says with a very real shudder.

"Scrapbooks?" Aisha looks more confused now.

"Remember that book she made when Will and I graduated?"

Aisha chortles, "Oh my god, she's making one-"

"We suck as a band," Jake interrupts as he picks his sticks up out of his bag, giving them a lazy twirl as he makes his way to the orange crate that serves as his stool, "how about we practice and try to fix that, hm?"

\---

Somewhere around September Mama Roque's car becomes Will's car. He leaves the ladies gym stickers on the fenders even though she says they can come off.

When it's too hot to do anything but lay on the cement floor of the garage they take to staring at the tiny silver Honda sitting next to Aisha's monstrous Barracuda and plan how they'll fit all their gear in the cars for their numerous future gigs. The gigs they convince themselves they don't have right now because they can't agree on any music they all like, Will's bass has a crack in its neck that's only getting worse, and forty-percent of Jake's drum set didn't survive the incident that cracked the bass's neck in the first place.

"What if we just aren't good?" Jake asks quietly after Aisha and Will spend half an hour grunting their agreements about how they're going to go places, someday, whatever that means.

"We are _good_," Aisha says firmly. She cranes her neck to glare over at where Jake is sprawled in the shade under Papa Roque's truck, her foot lashing out half heartedly to attack his ankle.

"We're gonna be the best," Will agrees.

\---

Alvarez shows up to every shift with a book and no interest in actually doing his job. He just tucks himself into the corner behind the register and reads. The only time he moves is when his cellphone chimes: one minute before his lunch break and one minute before he needs to clock out.

"You're going to get fired," Jake informs him sadly, "and then they'll hire someone who'll probably make disparaging comments about me, cover the store so I can take my lunch somewhere that isn't the counter, and actually help out when there's a line of people."

Alvarez makes a quiet _hmmm_ sound, nose still buried in _Armed Response_ by David Kenik.

"On second thought, I wouldn't mind taking a lunch break," Jake frowns, considering what it'd be like to not have half a dozen customers waiting impatiently for him instead of a full dozen, "keep reading."

Alvarez doesn't bother looking up, but raises a hand and gives Jake a thumbs up. "Okay, boss."

Jake spends the rest of the day using pencils like drumsticks and dreaming about a world where he only had to clean half the store before he closed up the shop at night.

\---

"I heard about this guy," Aisha is still half bent over her guitar, plucking away despite having no working amp, "he might be able to find you a new neck pretty cheap."

Will hums noncommittally, but Jake sees the way he frowns down at his bass's neck. His bass will be in two pieces by the end of the week. Two, if he's lucky.

\---

Pooch's dad owns a pawn store and spends his free time at estate sales.

"He's a pack rat," Pooch says with an apologetic smile as they pick their way through his basement. "Ma's been overseas for two months with work and he ended up filling up the attic, the basement, and all four sheds by the time she came home - so he's paying me to help clear it out and sell this junk before she kills him."

Will is edging around a barber's pole with a wary look. "You sure you have-"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Pooch says with a chuckle. "Just gotta find it."

Aisha grabs Jake's arm, nails biting into his skin. "Holy shit," she hisses, "is that-"

Jake follows her gaze to a dusty Star Wars themed pinball machine. "Mother of -"

"How much?" Aisha demands, pointing to the machine.

Pooch frowns, scratching at his neck, "I don't even know if it works much less how much it’s wo-"

Aisha waves him off, "How much?"

"Um, two hundred?"

"You said it might not work," she points out, narrowing her eyes.

"One hundred?"

"Deal," Aisha thunders gleefully as she elbows Jake in his side. "You're fixing it if it's broken and you're paying half."

\---

Pooch eventually digs up a neck and even helps deliver the pinball machine in his truck. Will orders a pizza in thanks and they all end up sprawled in a half circle around the pinball machine while Jake gingerly pries off the back panel, his eyes darting nervously back and forth from the machine to the schematic on his laptop.

"You guys in a band or something?" Pooch asks, nodding towards Aisha's collection of broken guitars that make up their wall decor.

Will snorts. "Or something."

"She has rage issues," Jake tells Pooch in a mock whisper, "and like a creepy serial killer, she likes to keep trophies of her kills."

Aisha picks a mushroom off her piece of pizza, biting into it with sharp white teeth. "When it's your time, I think I'll keep your glasses. Maybe an ear."

Pooch laughs like a man who hasn't seen Aisha reduce a man twice her size to a quivering mess of tears and snot.

"You know," Pooch says with a lazy grin, "I've been told that I have a half decent voice."

"Then you're too good for us," Jake says honestly.

"Way too good," Will agrees.

Aisha cants her head with a speculative gleam in her eyes. "Sing," she orders.

Pooch's smile grows wide as he grabs his Coke can and clears his throat. The Coke can is a lousy stand in for a mic, but no one can deny the fact that when he belts out the lyrics to _Bernadette_ he's singing like a man whose soul is on fire.

\---

Pooch starts swinging by practice after that. He doesn't seem to care that Will is good, at best, and that Jake is more noise than music. He ends up charming Mama and Papa Roque with his manners and making everyone else look like terrible ungrateful people by comparison.

"Traitor," Jake hisses when Mama Roque hands out slices of pie. Pooch's is easily twice the size of everyone else's.

Pooch apologizes by showing up at practice the next week with cases of cheap beer none that none of them are old enough to buy.

"Is this what it's like to have a cool friend?" Jake asks as he hugs his fourth Corona to his face.

"_I'm_ your coolest friend," Aisha says with narrowed eyes. "I'll _always_ be your coolest friend. I'm much, much too cool for you. I'm cooler than stupid _beer_ is," she hisses, tackling Jake and sending him and his beer crashing into his drum set.

"I'm thinking the beer was a bad idea," Pooch says mournfully.

Will just shrugs. "This probably would have happened even if you brought soda. You'll get used to it."

\---

Jake and Aisha both wake up with hangovers, though Aisha tries to pretend she doesn't have one.

"It was only beer," she sneers, "I don't get hungover from _beer_."

Jake cranks up the radio to double the volume in retaliation, watching as her face turns green and her knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.

\---

"I'm going to burn the store down because of that stupid door chime," Jake hisses to Alvarez when the third customer of their shift walks in.

Surprisingly, Alvarez glances up from his book of the day to look him over. Jake knows he must look, and possibly smell, like crap, but he can't bring himself to care. Or to take off his sunglasses.

After a moment Alvarez sighs, marking his place in the bright red book titled _Principles of Personal Defense_, and stands up. Jake would probably be blinking and asking questions any other day, because it's not Alvarez's lunch break or time to clock out, but his head is still busy punishing him for speaking.

Alvarez gently tugs at Jake's arm until Jake is off the stool, and then guides him down to his nook. When Jake is settled, still staring up in confusion, Alvarez nods to himself before tossing Jake his book and walking out from behind the counter. There's a series of muffled chimes before Alvarez returns with a tiny brass bell in his hand. He stands there for a moment, just frowning at Jake like so many teachers and peers before him, before tugging off his cap and placing it on Jake's head. He adjusts it twice, until the bill is effectively blocking the afternoon sun that's been plaguing Jake.

"Um," Jake says eloquently as Alvarez takes a seat on the stool.

Alvarez ignores in in favor of staring out blankly at the store. When a customer comes up, Alvarez rings them up silently, glaring at anyone who tries to initiate conversation. When it's time to lock up Alvarez dusts, counts out the register, and shuffles Jake out the door before he can wrap his head around what just happened.

Jake's in Aisha's car by the time he realizes he's still wearing the faded cap.

"That makes your head look fat," Aisha says in lieu of a greeting.

Jake gives her a noisy kiss on the cheek that earns him a shove into the window. "I missed you too, pumpkin."

\---

Jake wears the hat to practice. He's not sure why.

"Doesn't that guy you work with wear a hat like that?" Will looks completely bored with the conversation, which makes Jake worry. It's _never_ a good sign.

"My head was cold."

"Of course," Will drawls.

\---

Pooch ends up talking them all into playing a mutated version of _Bernadette_ that he scribbled out on the back of fliers for his dad's store. It sounds like shit the first six times they play together, but on the seventh Mama Roque peeks out into the garage with a confused look.

"Whatever you're doing," she urges them, "keep doing it!"

\---

The first time Pooch earns himself a spot in the ring with Mama Roque he gets his ass handed to him.

"I was raised never to hit a lady," he says through gritted teeth as Jake applies a frozen bag of corn to his face.

"Well, that's stupid," Mama Roque huffs with her still gloved hands on her hips, "what the hell are you supposed to do if a woman decides to off and hit you? 'Cause I got to tell you, what you tried today, you know - standing there and looking pathetic - hasn't really worked out for you so far."

"But I don't _want_ to hit a woman," Pooch says adamantly.

"Son, that's a mighty nice sentiment, but I can guarantee that's gonna mean jack shit if a woman decides she wants to hurt _you_."

Pooch sulks for the rest of the day, keeping frozen vegetables on his face while Will and Mama Roque spar and Jake and Aisha get into a vicious wrestling match that includes gratuitous hair pulling and biting over who gets the last soda.

Aisha wins, but surrenders the soda to Jake once she realizes it's a Diet Coke.

"I told you," Jake whines.

Aisha waves him off, flopping down wearily on the couch to rest her head on his lap and her feet on Pooch's.

\---

On Monday, nothing seems to have changed. When Jake arrives Alvarez has already tucked himself into his corner, his nose buried in his red book.

"Bye Jake, Cougs," Jolene calls cheerfully as she clocks out.

"Cougs?"

Alvarez grunts.

"Is that what the C stands for?"

Alvarez looks up from his book with a frown, "C is for Carlos."

"And Cougs is for…?" Jake prompts.

"Cougar, a _nickname_."

Jake nods absently before his brain makes a suggestion as to why Alvarez might be called Cougar. It's not a bad thought, so Jensen thinks about it in detail.

"Not for that reason," Cougar offers with a knowing grin. "Hat?"

Jake's brain tries to keep up, but fails. "You're called Cougar because of hats?"

"My hat," Cougar points a finger towards his own head, which yeah, Jake notices looks oddly naked despite the long hair that's been pulled up into a sloppy bun.

"Whoa, you have _hair_."

Cougar rolls his eyes up to the ceiling before raising his Aisha-style eyebrow. "So do you."

\---

The hat is retrieved from Jake's backpack and returned to its rightful place, which drives Jake mildly insane.

There's hair under there. _Lots_ of hair. And a forehead. This really should not be eating away at Jake's attention more than the Cougar and his mature ladies thoughts.

"Jensen, stop staring," Cougar growls over their lunch break.

"I'm not staring!" Jake yells, only to realize, oh yeah, he _is_. He's about to apologize or maybe say something inappropriate about Cougar's hair or about lonely housewives when he realizes Cougar didn't call him Jake.

_Jensen,_ he rolls the name around in his head for a while. It sounds cooler than Jake, it sounds like something a badass drummer might be called. And hey, _he's_ a badass drummer. Kinda. He doesn't suck too much.

"I'm in a band," Jake blurts out.

Cougar is kind enough to not laugh- he gives Jake a bemused look. "Good for you."

\---

"We need a name," Jake tells Will the moment he picks up the phone.

"A name?"

"For our band."

There's a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. "Is this one of your fixation on detail moments or did you try to impress someone by claiming to be in a band?"

Jake hangs up, scowling at his phone before picking it up and redialing.

"I'll take that as a yes, then."

"Oh shut up," Jake mutters, "and call me Jensen. My name is Jensen. Jensen, the badass drummer."

Will's laughter is warm and boisterous. "Come over to the house in forty," he insists, "bring Aisha and Pooch. I'll tell mom you’re coming for dinner, and then you can help me with my calculus before we play twenty-questions."

"Like hell I will," Ja- Jensen, he corrects himself, shouts as he hangs up on Will for the second time.

From the living room Jensen can hear Aisha's cell phone start to ring.

Shit.

\---

At Will's Jensen ends up escaping Mama Roque's unsubtle winks and looks, Papa Roque's confused looks, and the other's teasing questions by escaping to the garage under the guise of a bathroom run. He takes a seat at his set, only intending to take a deep breath but somehow ends up with sticks in his hands as he plays as loud and messily as he can.

The kitchen door opens, and four faces peek in, but Jensen ignores them. It works well enough, Pooch escapes the clatter making his way to the backyard, Will following him with his bass in one hand and dragging Aisha by her wrist with the other.

Mama Roque stays, leaning against the kitchen door and watching him with kind eyes he doesn't want to look too closely at as he thrashes. When his arms and wrists are burning and his stick head breaks the head of his tom he finally stops, sitting on his orange crate and panting. Mama Roque stays where she is.

"Our band needs a name," he tells her, "and I want to be called Jensen."

She nods, moving away from the door to place a soothing hand on his shoulder. "Do you have any ideas for the band's name, Jensen?"

He shrugs, her hand following his shoulder’s motions before drifting off to run through his hair. Her nails scrape against his scalp gently, leaving him feeling painfully exposed and a little ashamed.

"I'm sorry I made a racket," he says quietly.

"That's a little long for a band's name," Mama Roque says with a smile.

"It is, isn't it?"

Her hand wraps around the back of his skull, pulling him gently forward until his forehead is resting against her side and her other arm pulls him into a hug.

"We were only teasing you because we're curious," she tells him softly, "and I'm old enough to have known better." The arm around his shoulders tightens. "And if you tell us not to ask any more questions, we won't."

Jensen groans, "I don't even know what's going on."

Mama Roque hums absently. "Then take it, whatever it is, slowly. And know you've got us here, when or if you need us."

They stay there quietly, listening to Pooch's crooning and Aisha and Will's instruments wrapping his voice in a pleasing, if stuttering, wave of music.

"Want to get in the ring?" Mama Roque offers. "I've got some extra energy."

Jensen nods. "Oh god, yes, please."

\---

Jensen is halfway through ringing up a customer when the door chime alerts him to more incoming. Pooch's laughter clues him in to the identity of the shoppers quickly enough.

He shoves the receipt along with the bag full of cookbooks to the man in front of him with a half-assed smile before tracking the movement of the others as they venture into the college textbook section.

The moment Cookbook-guy leaves Jensen levels them all with a glare.

"We're not here to bother you," Will waves a scrap of paper with illegible writing, "I just needed a book for my gender studies class."

Cougar stops reading long enough to look up at Jensen with the eyebrow alignment Jensen somehow translates into 'what's going on?'.

"My friends," he explains, though the word comes out of his mouth sounding anything but friendly.

"His _band_," Pooch corrects as he leans on the counter. He waves down at Cougar who waves back.

Cougar turns to Jensen and starts doing his eyebrow-semaphore while Jensen seriously considers running out the door while screaming.

"He's a drummer," Aisha drawls as she hops up on the counter, "so, you know, he's good with his hands."

"Oh my god," Jensen moans to the cash register, who is absolutely no help, but currently in better esteem in his book than Aisha.

Cougar glances over the group: Will leaning on the counter and sizing him up with a bored expression, Aisha sitting cross legged on the counter whilst sorting through the pen cup kept next to the register, and Pooch smiling his diabolical 'I was raised by people who knew what manners are' smile.

"Nice to meet you," Cougar offers.

"We have a pinball machine in our apartment," Aisha says as she pockets the best pen in the cup. Jensen bares his teeth as he grabs the cup before any others go missing.

"And we're picking up some Chinese food," Pooch throws in.

"You're invited," Roque finishes.

"Oh my god," Jensen repeats to the cash register, "I'm going to have to kill them all, won't I?"

The cash register is no help, only reminds him to close the till. He can practically feel Cougar's eyes on him, witnessing his death by friends who suck, like really, a lot.

"Sure," Cougar finally says. "We close at eleven."

\---

Aisha apparently had wiped the scores on their pinball machine. Jensen knows this isn't a good thing when she casually invites Cougar to a 'friendly game', acting impressed by Cougar's score before taking her turn and wiping the floor with Cougar's score.

"_That's_ how it's done," she tells him primly, entering her initials in the number one slot while the machine churns out a cheery, but tinny rendition of the Imperial March.

Cougar nods, moving to taking his next turn with a smirk. Ten minutes later the Imperial March starts up again and C.A. replaces A.F. in the number one slot.

"Shit just got real," Pooch tells Jensen while Aisha does her best impression of someone who loses graciously before shoving Cougar aside for her turn.

In the end, Will unplugs the machine and earns himself twin glares from Aisha and Cougar and eternal gratitude from Pooch and Jensen, who were sure the night was going to end in someone's head being smashed through the pinball machine's glass.

"So. That wasn't nightmare inducing at all," Jensen lies.

Aisha smirks and Cougar looks unimpressed until his gaze falls upon the broken guitars hanging above the wall.

"You play?" He asks Aisha with a lazy smirk.

"I'm not bad," Aisha answers in a sugary sweet tone. "You?"

Cougar shrugs, "I'm not bad."

Next to Jensen, Pooch makes a tiny whimpering sound as Aisha takes her guitar from its stand and hands it to Cougar.

"We should go to the store to get some… cups. Yeah, we'll just go get some cup. For the soda," Jensen says, edging towards the front door.

"You're staying," Aisha barks without bothering to look at either of them.

"Why did I start hanging out with you guys, again?" Pooch moans.

"The running theory is you just didn't notice," Jensen informs him. "Unless you ate paint chips as a child. Did you, you know, ingest yummy yummy lead based paint treats?"

\---

Cougar brings a worn, but well loved acoustic guitar with him to work the next day instead of a book.

"I'm not allowed to talk to you," Jensen tells him sadly.

Cougar nods, adjusting the guitar with deft hands.

"Aisha says you're the devil and that I can't be trusted to form intelligent opinions about you on my own."

Jensen can see the hint of a smirk under Cougar's hat - no longer the raggedy baseball cap but now a leather cowboy hat. And really, who wears a cowboy hat in the middle of suburbia? And why does Jensen find that so appealing? That thought floats away from Jensen as Cougar starts humming softly to himself as he plays.

"Oh my god," Jensen whines loud enough to catch Jolene's attention as she gathers her purse and phone and gets ready to clock out. She stops, frowning at them both.

"Do I even want to know?"

"Go away, Jolene, I'm having an inappropriate reaction to a guitar and cowboy hats and witnesses aren't welcome."

"About time, I was starting to think you two were hopeless." Jolene has the audacity to laugh as she leaves.

\---

Aisha looks unamused to come home and find Cougar reading one of his books while tucked into the corner of their thrift store couch.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

Jensen has a snarky reply on the tip of his tongue, but he stops and remembers Will's most recent lecture via text message. He stops stirring the curry on the stove and turns to wrap Aisha in a hug. The knee to his groin he's willing to admit he should have seen coming.

"We'll always be besties," Jensen wheezes from his fetal ball on the kitchen floor, "and just because I hang out with other people or obsess about seeing them naked or thinking about them and lonely housewives doesn't mean our friendship is any less important to me." He takes a deep breath and tries to blink away the pain induced tears. "Also - you're an evil harpy and I'm going to hate you forever if you've damaged my penis now that someone other than my right hand wants to play with it."

Aisha stands there for a moment, alternating between glaring and looking sorry.

"I'm not sorry, and I don't care," Aisha finally says with a tight expression. "Now get out of the kitchen, I'll finish this up - but only because your curry always tastes like ass."

"Cougs is eating with us," Jensen reminds her as he pushes himself off the floor, "so I'm demanding a game of musical plates before anyone eats in the hopes we all end the day without food poisoning."

"Out," she reminds him.

\---

It takes three months of inappropriate comments being blurted out by Jensen and hints at invitations from Pooch to lure Cougar to the garage for practice. When Jensen sees him pull up in a busted up Toyota with his acoustic guitar riding shotgun he feels a thrill.

"You must be Hat-boy," Mama Roque says by way of introduction. "Welcome to the band."

"I'm just here to-"

Mama Roque waves him off. "That's what they all say."

"Hope you can handle yourself in the ring," Papa Roque calls from the backyard.

"The ring?"

Jensen does his best to make soothing sounds as he herds Cougar farther into the garage. "It'll be okay, don't worry," Jensen assures him, "and no pressure or anything, but I think we should date and fall madly in love. Triumphant stories of love are a great inspiration for bands, and again, no pressure, but if we're ever going to come up with a great song that doesn't suck the band will need to use our love as a guiding light."

Cougar spends the next hour in a daze, occasionally glancing around the garage in disbelief before shaking himself out of it and challenging Aisha's skills via eyebrow-semaphore.

"I like him," Will says over dinner.

"I like that he didn't run away screaming," Pooch says sagely, "shows that he's got what it takes."

"He _can_ hear you guys," Mama Roque reminds them, nodding towards Cougar who's gone back to his dazed look.

\---

"My friend has a low paying gig for a band - as long as they don't suck too much," Jolene says, staring intently at her nails. "I've heard Cougar play and I trust him, but you and the others better promise not to make me regret putting in a good word for you losers."

Jensen's brain short circuits at some point, but luckily, Pooch was right and Cougar's made of tougher stuff.

"A gig?"

Jolene nods, still glaring her cuticles into submission. "Yeah, Frank says you get ten bucks each and two drinks from the barista," she looks up, smirking, "and I've heard you, so I suggest you jump on the offer before he wises up and drops it to just coffee."

\---

The Losers get their first gig because of Jolene, and somehow they also got their name. Hours of Aisha and Cougar doing their terrifying death-glares ended only by Mama Roque throwing them into the ring before sending them all home were apparently wasted.

"You guys are," the owner of the cafe squints down at the papers in his hand, "the Losers?"

"We-"

"Yes," Jolene says serenely. "These are the Losers. Losers, this is Frank. Frank, these are the Losers, I leave them in your capable hands."

Frank looks them all over with boredom before shrugging and waving them over to the shoddy looking stage that has been crammed into the corner of the balcony.

"I don't want any songs about your dog and your truck, songs that use any variation of the word 'death' more than twice, or covers - no matter how 'unique'," Frank says with air quotes and an air of menace, "they are - of _Call Me Maybe_. Add to that list any songs you jokers have that include the words anilingus, nine-millimeter, or the establishment."

"There goes our playlist," Jensen mock whispers to Pooch. Pooch nods back, softly humming the beginning of _Call Me Maybe_ until Aisha's heel lands on his foot.

"We understand," Aisha says with a smile that Jensen's only seen people who've worked retail capable of using.

\---

"Hey, Losers, it's time," is how Frank calls them to the stage. He gives Will a pat on the back before wandering over to the barista to stare at them expectantly.

"Right, no pressure," Jensen mutters to himself.

"Hey," Cougar bumps shoulders with Jensen, "pressure can be good, yes?" He's smiling in a way that makes Jensen think of fumbling kisses on Mama Roque's driveway and tangled fingers hidden behind the counter when Cougar stands up to help with the line at work.

"Pressure isn't always so bad," Jensen admits, stealing a quick kiss.

\---

"You don't suck too much," Frank tells them as he hands them all crumpled up tens.

Pooch gets two fives, but from the way he's smiling, Jensen can tell those fives, much like his own ten will never leave Pooch's wallet.

"I have a band come in Friday, Saturday, and every other Sunday. There's fifteen bucks a person in it if you guys show up any of those days."

"Oh my god, we're rock stars," Jensen whispers blissfully.

Frank just stares at him in confusion, "Trust me kid, you really aren't."

"Close enough," Pooch says, preening.

"Cheeseballs," Jolene says, rolling her eyes, "all of you are cheeseballs. Cheeseballs who owe me dinner for making you kind-of rock stars."

Jensen is distracted from Pooch's verbal diarrhea at the prospect of taking Jolene out to eat by a warm hand slipping into his, squeezing lightly. Cougar's there, guitar resting on his back and his hat tilted up like the cover of some terrible bodice-ripper.

"Hey," Jensen tells him stupidly, just as the flash blinds them all.

**Author's Note:**

> Was previously posted, then taken down. Now it's back up. Beware the errors and typos, I suspect the files I found on my old hard drive are the pre-beta versions.  
Please don't steal any of my silly stories and change some names around and then try to sell them as books on Amazon or I'm gonna have to take everything down again.


End file.
